


Silver Tale

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little angsty to begin with but it'll all work out in the end, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Betrayal, Changing POV, Definitely not H20 inspired, Drama, Fantasy, Fluff, Greg Centric, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mermaid Greg, Merman Greg, More characters and relationships will be introduced as we go along, Mycroft holmes is a big softy at heart, Scared Greg, Secrets, Teenlock, mermaid, merman, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes meet in a chance encounter as teenagers, unbeknownst to them their lives will be changed forever. Nineteen years later, yet another encounter will force Greg to tell the truth, this time facing a real and looming danger.Or there's something fishy about Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes is hot on his tail.On hiatus.





	1. Rain Drops

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback would reallly be appreciated! Positive or negative! Thank you :)

Mycroft Holmes was not a man of superstition. He'd long learnt to tune out the gossip and hearsay and refused to satisfy to indulgent tales of the whimsical and magical things that so many lost souls had fallen foul to. Mycroft, undeniably due to his status as a minor political figure in the British Government was a man of rational. A man of logic. Or at least he had been, until 19 years ago, on that one fateful night and that one fateful boy that had changed his grasp upon reality forever.

Mycroft lay still, painfully awake in the broad four poster bed, in his flat, somewhere in the vicinity of London. For the first time in a long time, his dreams had been once again filled with the familiar face that so often haunted his sleep. Closing his eyes, he traced the smooth jawline and bronzed skin of a boy who's name he didn't even know. Or man should he say. Mycroft often wondered where he was, if he'd ever returned to the shore where he'd last set eyes upon him. Or was he gone for good, destined to live out his days at sea? Frustrated over his lack of sleep, Mycroft sighed as he slid carefully out of bed and into the hallway, cautious not to arouse Anthea's suspicion as he padded lightly across solid wood flooring. Hopefully feeding his curiosity would let him sleep better tonight. He made his way to the back of the flat, unlocking the door to his private office gingerly. God forbid if any one - the worst of all Sherlock, were to find out about this room and the secrets he kept within. Mycroft grimaced, even now at the thought of his brothers endless teasing.

Flicking on the lights, the room was dimly illuminated, revealing the endless collections of files that were thrown haphazardly across his desk. He liked to think the state of the office mirrored that of the small part of him that still pondered on this fantasy and thus was kept locked away and secret from the rest of the world. Suddenly energised by brilliance of his greatest unsolved case, he spread papers, photos, thick heavy volumed books and endless sticky notes across the wooden surface, frantically searching for the one piece of evidence that kept this enchantment alive. Eventually he recovered it - an aged scrap of newspaper, frayed slightly around the edges from his regular grasp. Printed boldly in discoloured black ink, Mycroft read the headline again and again and again in his head; it had been taken from a local newspaper, something to entertain those who bothered to read further enough into the paper:

> _Mermaid Spotted at Sherrinford Cove._

Mycroft however knew far better than that. For on the fateful night 19 years ago, he had met a merman. A real, living and breathing merman, with a sparkling silver tail to match his salt and pepper hair. 

So, after a half hour of so, he returned to his bed, blissfully enchanted by those deep brown eyes and the hope that one day, they'd meet again. 

-

Greg Lestrade sighed in exhaustion, as he slammed yet another bulging case-file from the mountain of paperwork beside him, onto his desk. It was days like this that he began to believe that life on land was really not for him. Not that he'd ever known otherwise really, well not properly anyway. It wasn't as if he was fully fish, he was as human as any of the officers in this building, just with the occasional instance of growing a tail whenever he touched water. When he was young he'd thought of this life as a curse, something that made him an outsider from even his own family. Sure his gift was inherited, but rarely so, so rarely even that the last person like him had been his great-grandmother, who had passed on years ago. Whilst he had the folklore passed ceremonially by his father, in the case that he were to inherit the gift, Greg had began to feel that he had been thrown headfirst into a rather ridiculous and lonely life. The secret was something to be shared with nobody, not even his closest friends. He'd often been told of gruesome tales of mermen and mermaids who had dared to share their secret, only to spend the rest of their lives hunted down by who they once considered friends. So Greg had kept his guard, watching through the window of his seaside home as his friends played together on the beach, alongside the hundreds of tourists who swarmed to the quaint coastal town every year.

Gazing tiresomely out of his window, Greg grimaced at the tiny rain droplets that thudded upon the glass. Dark clouds were beginning to swell over central London and he glanced down to see swarms of umbrellas moving backwards and forwards on the pavement below. It was days like this that had him especially frustrated. Not only did he have to stay covered at all the times, to avoid sprouting a tale on the streets of London but the urge to swim and feel the greatest freedom in the world was at its greatest. Of course however, Greg had left that life behind many years ago. Nowadays he only transformed when absolutely necessary, he had learnt his lesson about risking his secret before.

It had been a day like this, Greg recalled. _The sky had been tinged and putrid grey and the wind had whipped him cruelly as he made his way along the beach, back towards his home. He knew it had been a mistake to begin with, but he just couldn't resist. He yearned to feel the soft sea breeze upon his face, to smell the salty waters that called so loudly to him. Picking up his pace, he'd trudged onwards, desperate to make it back before the rain came. He must have been so concerned with getting home, that he hadn't notice the freckled auburn haired boy, making his way towards him, arms wrapped around his expensive looking jacket. Greg collided with the boy, knocking him back so sharply that he fell back onto the sand. He was about to about mutter a quick apology and hurry his way back to the house when he caught a glimpse of his victim. For that moment, it had felt like the entire world had stood still. His own brown eyes had met pale blue ones, so full of intensity and intelligence that something stirred excitedly in the bottom of his stomach._

_"Sorry", Greg had laughed, suddenly absent of worry, his eyes glued magnetically to the handsome stranger, "Didn't look where I was going"._

_He watched the boys cheeks purple with embarrassment, his smile so beautifully embarrassed that for a moment Greg's breath had caught in his throat. That of course, was when the heavens had decide to open. In an instant, rain poured down from the sky, in huge dewy droplets that seeped through his shirt and plastered to his skin. His momentary enchantment had been replaced by utter panic. Spinning around frantically, he desperately looked for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. He had to escape, had to get away and keep the secret and save himself from the horrors of exposure. So, he ran. Greg sprinted towards the water, faster than he had ever ran before. If he could just make it to the waters edge, he could transform and escape unseen, with his secret life intact. Finally reaching the rocky outcrop that jutted out into the water, he dived headfirst into the water but something went wrong._

_Something hard scraped into his side and he yelped as he felt the horribly fantastic sensation of his legs transforming alongside the splintering sensation of rock breaking his skin. He daren't move, terrified of being spotted, he attempted to line his body against the jagged bolder but the awful sting was becoming too much to bare. Clutching his side and the now gaping wound that was now gushing with blood, he heaved the top half of his body out of the water, in an attempt to gain back breath and make some sense of this now horrible situation. He felt sick, god this was his worst nightmare, the one thing he truly feared and it was all coming true. He could feel hot tears running down his freezing cheeks and his eyes stung. Then, in an instant, his hot panic was cut through like ice. A sharp intake of breath sliced through the air and Greg turned instinctively, his eyes widening in fear at what he saw._

_There stood the freckled boy, looking down at him from where he stood at the rocks, his features pinned into an unreadable expression. For a few seconds the pair were frozen in time, neither daring to move from their fixed spot, except for the intertwined rise and fall of their chests. What was that look? Terror? Bewilderment? Or something even worse? Greg didn't want to know._

_Taking one last fearful look at the boy, he let his lips form the word, "Please", slipping back beneath the surface and darting away, as fast as his body could carry him._

He hadn't returned home for a week after that. Hysterical at the prospect of being hunted down or whatever god awful punishment the stranger had planned for him, he'd stayed far away from the shore or anywhere that could be accessed by land. Eventually he'd mustered up the courage to drag himself out of the water, before transforming and stumbling back home along the shore. He painfully recalled his mums devastated expression as he fell into her arms, pale as a sheet and still holding his injured side. After that, Greg had made a promise to himself, he would never put himself in that kind of danger again and if that meant never stepping foot in the ocean again, by god he would do it. Of course it didn't work out like that completely. Swimming was a kind of itch that had to be scratched and he knew far too well the dangers of avoiding it. So he lived his life as a cautious man, taking precautions at every turn. To the rest of London, he was just an ordinary Detective Inspector and he was determined to keep it that way. 

Picking up a pen from his desk, he began to scan through endless police reports, not entirely focussed on what he was doing, only to be interrupted by Sally bursting into his office. 

"Sir, body found by the Thames in Woolwich, forensics are down there now."

"Thanks Sally, I'll be out in a second." He replied and she nodded, closing the door behind her. 

Greg slipped on his coat, waterproof of course, alongside a pair of leather gloves before grabbing an umbrella from the draw of his desk. He took one last look at the rain gently thumping against the glass and slid quietly out of the room, the only sound, the muted hum of the January wind. 

 


	2. Umbrellas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John investigate an alleged drowning and Greg and Mycroft have their second chance meeting. How will Greg react when the life he has built for himself begins to fall apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback would be much appreciated :)

It had been but only five minutes since Greg had arrived at the South Bank and as did with many of their cases these days, the scene had erupted into unadulterated and utter madness. Unsurprisingly, chaos came in the form of Sherlock Holmes. Greg grimaced, the harsh wind biting his skin, as he attempted to interview a rather disgruntled witness, barely able to hear himself over the tiresome of bickering of Sherlock and Donovan behind him. 

"Sir", Sally yelled in his direction, her features pointed into an expression of disdain, "Freak's tainting the evidence!". 

"Actually Sally, I think you'll find Anderson's done that job for you. He must be pretty good at making a mess, judging by the bruise on your neck." 

Sally recoiled angrily and was about to unleash another scathing jibe on Sherlock, when Greg cursed quietly under his breath, abandoning his witness and positioned himself between the pair. 

"Alright that's enough! Donovan, finish off that witness statement."

"But sir!"

"That's enough Sally", he interjected and she scowled menacingly, throwing a glare at John as he tittered from his position by Sherlock's side, before storming away. 

"Alright Sherlock, what have you got?" 

As much as Greg despised the younger man at times, Greg couldn't help but warm to the breath of fresh air that was Sherlock Holmes. Something about the man's apparent lack of humanity, resonated somewhere deep within Greg. He too knew what it felt like to feel alienated from the people around him, even if he could hide his difference, whilst Sherlock was hardly subtle about it. Still, he had to admit the consulting detective had calmed a little lately, likely neutralised by his magnetic attachment to John. 

Before them, lay the body of a man likely in his late twenties to early thirties. His ashy black hair was plastered flat to his alabaster skin and he was dressed impeccably in a tight fitted navy suit, which like the rest of him, was drenched. Heavy rain still hammered down from the swelling sky, yet Sherlock seemed oblivious, pausing only to turn the collar of his coat up as he stalked purposefully, transfixed on his deductions. Finally, he lifted up head and fired into action, commanding the stage as only Sherlock was capable. 

"From the location and state of the body you would probably expect he drowned but it wasn't, there are clear abrasion marks here and here", He explained, gesturing to both sides of the victim's neck. "He's clearly been asphyxiated, by my guess by some kind of chord, looking at the angle of the markings. His body wasn't dumped in the water either, it was placed here. None of the signs that the body was in the water for a prolonged period are there, he's only been in water for an hour at the most." 

"So whoever did this is trying to fake a drowning?" John pondered, "Why would anyone want to fake a drowning? Surely by dumping the body they'd get rid of the evidence."

"Why does anybody do anything John?" Sherlock replied lightly, letting his eyes meet those of John. Greg suppressed a smile, as he caught a glimpse of the look of adoration they shared with one another. It had been a long time since Greg had felt anything that even resembled the infatuation that was clear between the two flat mates and he couldn't help but be warmed by their content. 

-

Meanwhile, just a few miles away, in an undisclosed location in the vicinity of London, Mycroft slumped back into his chair, utterly bored. He'd finished all his international briefings for the day and foiled an assassination attempt halfway across the world in the process and it had only just gone one o'clock. He'd considered delving into some archaic literature or broadening his knowledge of ancient language but nothing really suited his fancy. 

He had of course considered the idea that he may be lonely. He supposed it was part of some odd prehistoric desire to crave human socialisation. He'd even gone as far to momentarily consider the prospect of friendship or even a relationship, as he had desires and wants just like everybody else. But eventually, he'd decided relationships to be more of a hinderance than a helping hand. What good was a partner to the British Government anyway? 

Today however, Mycroft was in the mood for meddling, even if that meant dreaded conversation. So, opening his laptop, the elder Holmes proceeded to do what he knew best, spy on his dearest brother. Pinpointing the location of Sherlock's phone, he then grabbed his trusted umbrella and sauntered out of his office, in search of some light entertainment. 

-

As the grim morning trudged on into an even greyer afternoon, the rain only worsened and Greg was becoming inherently anxious. He held his umbrella close to him, shoulders slumped. Most of forensics had fled the scene, including Anderson, accompanied by Donovan thankfully. As much as he liked her, he couldn't bare to tolerate any more of her and Sherlock's relentless bickering. Now only Sherlock, John and the odd officer remained. Sherlock and John's spirits however were unusually high, John likely relieved to have occupied his partner with another gruesome case. 

Slouching back awkwardly against his car, he allowed his shoulders to sink and he breathed heavily, taking in his view. A wave of nostalgia had been slowly creeping over him all day. He closed his eyes, feeling the damp wind against his skin, as he done all those years ago, during his days at Sherrinford. As hard at times it had been to keep his secret, there had been moments of bliss back home. He still remembered fragments; seaside adventures with his parents, when the tourists had gone for the season and his father had dared to allow him to swim in the deep rock pools that were carefully disguised by the rocky coastline. He could still feel the freezing water as it lapped in gentle waves against his skin, as he gazed out towards the ocean, imagining a world beyond. He'd never met anybody like him and part of him now wondered if he never would. Maybe they'd all been hunted down, or died out. He hoped not.

Maybe he'd pay him mum and dad a visit sometime soon. He couldn't live in fear of the place for ever, swimming against a current that he was destined to be pulled back into. 

"Oh for God's sake what now!".

Greg jolted abruptly out of his daydream, at the sound of Sherlock moaning dramatically, throwing his arms in the air . Only now had noticed the sleek black car that had pulled up behind them and the tall man standing with his back to Lestrade, casually holding a large umbrella, not unlike his own, above his head. So this must be the elder Holmes, the mysterious figure who he'd heard liked to haunt crime scenes from afar and was undoubtedly the ultimate source of Sherlock's frustration. Even brotherly banter however had its limit and from what Greg had heard, the Holmes' relationship was that of borderline archenemies. 

"Nothing brother dear, am I not allowed to check up on you? You know how worried mummy gets." The mans voice was posh and brilliantly rhythmical, so much so that Greg found himself somewhat intrigued as he made him way towards the pair, ready to split up yet another quarrel. 

"Oh save it Mycroft, stop bothering me, haven't you got anything better do? Found yourself a goldfish yet?" 

The man seemed unphased and wandered over to the young man's body, with his back still to Greg. 

"You haven't solved it yet", he hummed. 

"Yes I have", Sherlock bluffed sharply. So far they'd only established the case as a staged drowning, with no leads or suspect to be found. It was beginning to look like a classic dead end case, even with the help of the world's greatest consulting detective. "It's so trivial even Lestrade could solve it!". 

Greg startled slightly, acutely suprised as he was suddenly drawn back into the conversation. It wasn't as if he was an awful detective, on the contrary he was one of, if not the best on the force. It just so happened that London had been hit by an unprecedented wave of uncrackable cases, for which even his skill was worthless. 

"Thanks", he grumbled, only mildly insulted.  

Straightening his poise, the elder brother spun slowly on his heel, looking down to face the Detective Inspector, with an unmistakable curiosity. 

Greg peered through the rain, taking in the man who stood before him and as time once again seemed to stand still, a dreadful wave of familiarity lurched within him. Glazed brown eyes once again met painfully intense blue ones. Almost twenty years had passed, yet here he stood, those unmistakable freckles and his rich auburn hair, as prominent as the day they had first met one another. It was the boy from the beach, the reason for his fear and horror for all those years. The man blinked back at him, a look of enchanted recognition grasping his feature, as they stood, inches apart as they had done on that fateful day nineteen years ago, with rain pouring down on them, the heavens open wide. There was only one man alive other than his family who knew his secret, who'd wrenched his life apart and here he was, in the form of Sherlock Holmes' brother. He was going to vomit. White hot panic was boiling in his veins and the instinct to run and never return was far too great to resist. 

He barely remembered what he'd murmured to excuse himself. All he wanted to do was get away from the face that haunted his dreams and kept him awake night after night. He sped to his car,throwing the umbrella into the backseat and pressing down hard on the ignition, as he shot away into the distance. 

Meanwhile, somewhere in the vicinity of London, Mycroft Holmes watched Lestrade shoot rapidly out of view, not being able to fully comprehend, that the boy in his dreams had come true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how will Greg get himself out of this sticky situation with Mycroft hot on his tail?


	3. Bathtubs and Fishtanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is pressured to tell the truth and Mycroft plays a dangerous game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a little longer! Enjoy merman Greg :).

Greg let his head fall back against the rim of the bathtub, as he sank deeper into the water. The cool waves flowed gently against his body and he closed his eyes momentarily, allowing himself a few moments of peace. He'd endured a worrisome three days since coming face to face with Mycroft Holmes by the river and he had to admit, he was mess. Shirts, pants and socks were still flung madly about the flat, the aftermath of his rushed attempt to pack as soon as he'd made it home. He had no idea what to do or where to go. Abandoning his job and leaving London would raise far too much suspicion. He'd called in sick for the last three days, too wrung with anxiety and enthusiastic to avoid either of the Holmes brothers. Was Mycroft too just biding his time, waiting to pounce and drag him off for experimentation for the rest of his life? Or was there a chance that he would keep his secret?

After three days of pacing frantically around his flat, Greg had finally succumbed to urge to escape his human form. Taking off his clothes, he'd filled the large tub almost to its brim and lowered himself into the water. So now he lay still, the tension in his shoulders slowly ebbing away. Transforming in the tub was hardly to be compared to the freedom of swimming at sea. The bath was at least a foot too short, so the end of his tail lopped out of the water and over the end of the tub. Still, he couldn't help but admire himself in this form. The streamlined scales that covered the lower part of his body glistened brilliantly as they bounced back the light and crept up to his hips, then being replaced with bronzed radiant skin. It was too peculiar how his human self mirrored this form. Even when he was just a child, his hair had shone an iridescent silver, speckled with darker areas of grey and black. He'd been forced to engage in the arduous task of dying his fair a dull brown whilst at school, to avoid the rigorous questioning of suspicious peers. Eventually however, after leaving school, he'd given up on trying to disguise himself, fairly confident that his colleagues would believe he'd gone prematurely grey.

Greg's stomach growled and he suddenly realised how hungry he was. He'd barely ate or slept for the best three days and felt awfully drained. He emptied the bathtub, feeling quite literally like a fish out of water, as the water disappeared down the plughole. Now for the undignified part. Greg heaved himself out of the tub, the effort tensing his biceps and flopped awkwardly onto the bath mat and onto his stomach. He grabbed the towel he'd laid out especially, proceeding to dry himself rigorously, careful to brush lightly over the more sensitive areas of scale.

Once back on his feet, he dressed then grabbed his phone and ordered take out, positively ravenous at the thought of Chinese food. He climbed onto his bed and lay still on the delicate cotton sheets and tugged the wool throw his mum had given him as a child tightly around him. Acutely aware of how heavy his eyes felt, Greg closed them just for a second and dozed off to sleep.

-

He must have been asleep for only a few brief minutes before a loud knock jerked him awake. Blinking through dazed confusion, he padded over to the door of the apartment, dressed only in grey sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt.

"Thank God", he smiled, as he swung upon the door, "I could eat a -"

Greg's body visibly tensed and for a moment he stood hopelessly. Before him stood Mycroft Holmes, unaccompanied by chinese takeout.

Greg slammed the door shut again, backing away. Was it all over? Were armed suits waiting to drag him away at any second?

"Gregory!" Mycroft's voice echoed quietly. Nobody called him Gregory and yet here he was, a total stranger, making him feel more exposed than he ever had done before. Greg wanted to tell him to leave, yell at him to never come back and leave him at peace but he daren't utter a sound. Instead he stood rooted to the spot, a familiar sensation of dread brewing deep down in his stomach.

"I mean you no harm, I just want to talk." Talking, what good would that do?

"Lestrade!" Mycroft called out a third time. Cautiously, Greg made his way forward, determined to get the man off his doorstep.

"Look," he stammered "I don't know what you want but I can't help you."

"Detective Inspector-"

"I mean it! You should go."

"I know its you...you're the boy from the beach", Mycroft declared and Greg's heatbeat lurched into a rapid thump.

"You're mistaken!" Greg countered, "You've must have the wrong person."

"Then why are you hiding, Detective Inspector?" There was something both enchanting and intimidating about Mycroft's formality.

"None of your business!" He snapped in response, mentally facepalming. Who was he trying to kid? He couldn't even convince himself he was telling the truth.

There was a brief pause and Greg hoped that Mycroft had relented and left. Once again however, Mycroft spoke, his tone was softer, almost kindly in a way that seemed alien to Mycroft's looming demeanor.

"I never stopped looking for you...all those years and I knew I'd find you. I went back to Sherrinford ever year after that but you were never there." Greg audibly groaned. What was this feeling inside of him? Sympathy?

"You have the wrong man", he replied bluntly, hoping to shut Mycroft up, but he carried on.

"I thought I'd gone mad. Did you know that? Thought I'd created some whimsical fantasy but I was right all along! You're here and you're real, how is it even possible?". Mycroft clearly wasn't finished but Greg was.

Taking a deep breath, Greg swung the door back open, to reveal Mycroft Holmes looking down at him, cautiously. Greg had to admit that the man had lost none of the handsomeness that had left him speechless all those years ago.

"Look, I have no idea what you're talking about, so will you please leave me alone!" he groaned and he was about to shut the door once more, when Mycroft jammed that bastard umbrella of his into the doorway, pinning it open.

"Whatever you have gotten into your head that will happen if you tell the truth is simply ludicrous! I want to help you, it can't be easy living a lie. However, if you are unwilling to tell me the truth, I'm going to have to prove it myself." He murmured intensely, "I don't make mistakes, so don't let this be the first".

For a few seconds they stared intensely into one anothers eyes, before Mycroft turned and stormed down the hallway, turning dramatically around the corner and out of view.

Greg had the feeling his life was about to get a lot more complicated.

-

Greg returned to work the next day and surprisingly enough, the week proceeded uneventfully.

The drowning case remained unsolved and was shoehorned to the back of his mind, being overtaken by uninspiring cases of petty crime. He remained cautious of Mycroft's warning, watching his back wherever he went and kept himself at either Donovan or Anderson's side at all times, doubting Mycroft would be enthusiastic to cause a fuss with a witness by Greg's side. So by the time Monday morning arrived, he'd almost settled back into his old routine. He chatted leisurely to Anderson, a piping cup of extra strong coffee warming his hand as they climbed the staircase at the yard. As they reached the fifth floor, Sally greeted them cheerfully, a rather entertained look on her face.

"Been redecorating Sir?" She quizzed.

Greg tilted his head slightly and blinked blankly back her.

'What?"

"Two guys just delivered something to your office."

He gave her an odd look, before shrugging the matter off with a grin. Surely enough however, Greg was left gaping, as he opened the door to his office. There, at the centre of the room, positioned as if it had always been there, was an enormous glass fish tank. Majestic tropical fish darted about the transparent prison and a forest of seaweed swayed in the artificial current. The tank was filled too, with ridiculous ornaments, ranging from a mechanical treasure chest that opened and closed to a clockwork crab that scuttled along the floor. Something else however had transfixed Greg's attention. He moved closer to the tank and the hard eyes of a merman statue glared back at him, cornilly clutching a trident in its right arm. What on Earth? Just that moment, Greg felt his phone vibrate and he hooked it out of his blazer pocket, still astonished by the miraculous transformation of his office. Opening the message he had received, his eyes flashed from the tank to the screen and then back again;

> LOOK CLOSER - MH

Growling in frustration, he peered through the glass and he cursed in disbelief at what he saw. 

Sitting at the bottom of the tank were a set of keys - no wait, his keys! How was that possible? Patting himself down he desperately tried to retrieve his own, to no avail. How the hell was he supposed to get them back without exposing himself?

Greg Lestrade stood in his office, in an utter state of bewilderment. His state of shock however was soon replaced by something reminiscent of a laugh and then a smile. It was mad, but slightly brilliant.

Mycroft Holmes was playing a game and he had the feeling, he wouldn't give up until he had won. 


	4. The Pond at the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has an unfortunate accident and finally puts his faith in Mycroft.

If Greg had thought that Mycroft would give up with his mission to wreak havoc in his life after the fish tank incident, by God he couldn't have been anymore wrong. In a matter of days his life had crashed into a mosaic of absolute chaos as Mycroft had become increasingly creative with his meddling. It was as if he would stop at nothing to push Greg to the limit of exposure, hurtling him into ridiculous situations at every hour of the day.

Life at the yard had become a living nightmare, with Mycroft apparently desperate to see him squirm in front of his colleagues. On Tuesday Greg had been forced to explain to the superintendent why he refused to get down from  his desk, after a water pipe had mysteriously burst, flooding his office and on Wednesday, the office sprinklers had been coincidently set off, leaving him with little choice but to seek refuge under the desk, much to the amusement of Anderson and Donovan. Meanwhile, his flat had been inundated with a series of letters, each of which contained incriminating evidence that Mycroft must have collected over the years. Still Mycroft couldn't prove anything. The photo's he'd received were grainy at best and the newspapers clippings were nothing but fantasized accounts!

By Friday Greg had just about had enough. He'd returned from work in a foul mood, sick to death of Mycroft's antics only to find a small parcel at his front door. Mycroft had sent him fish food. Fish food! Now that was just plain insulting! Practically vibrating with annoyance, he'd changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and gone for a run, hoping to burn off some of his frustration. As irritated as he was he rather liked this time of evening, when the sky dimmed to hues of pink and purple and the air felt cool and crisp. So he'd taken his normal route, past the tall apartment buildings where he lived, through an area of upmarket housing and into the park. In accordance to the time of night, the grounds were completely empty, leaving Greg alone to his thoughts. 

After half an hour or so, he decided to take a break, slowing to a stop as he came by the large pond at the centre. Maybe he should just tell Mycroft the truth. It was far from easy carrying the burden of a secret life on your shoulders, all alone. He gazed into the water, admiring the the way it reflected and glowed with sunset above. 

"Hello Gregory". 

The DI jumped and spun around, as the familiar song of Mycroft Holmes met his ears. Now he had enough! 

"What the hell do you think you've been doing?" He roared and Mycroft raised an eyebrow, surprisingly underwhelmed. "You don't have the right to force me to tell you anything; regardless of if I was hiding something! Do you know how ridiculous these past few days have been? Do you have any idea what you could have done?"

"I never had the intention to hurt you Gregory and I wouldn't have allowed it to get so far that." 

"Thats irrelevant!" he yelled "Do you know how long it's taken me to build this life, my career! And you were willing to humiliate me infront of my colleagues, just for the sake of proving yourself right." 

Mycroft stared back at him and his cheeks purpled slightly, as he looked down slightly sheepishly. Finally he lifted a hand, almost as if he wished to extend an olive branch and took a step forward. 

"Look, I'm sor-". That was however, when Greg crashed into the water. Instinctively cautious of Mycroft, he had immediately taken a step back, teetering over the edge of the pond and flailing wildly as he fell into the water. As he felt the familiar tingling sensation of his legs transforming, he broke the surface quickly, sinking down into its murky depths. Now this was just embarrassing. He was completely trapped, with nowhere to go other than to face a likely smug Mycroft Holmes. Huffing angrily so that bubbles streamed out of his nose, he made his way to the surface and poked his head timidly above the water. 

"I think I may have some explaining to do" Greg grimaced and Mycroft nodded wordlessly back at him, his features enchanted by a look of pure delight and disbelief.

-

 "So...what would you like to know?" 

Greg couldn't quite believe those words had come out of his mouth. For her entire life he'd existed in a world of secrecy, a closed book that would never be opened, yet here he was ready to spill his guts, to Mycroft Holmes of all people. Mycroft glanced up at him as he stirred his tea, then leant back comfortably into his armchair. They're retired to nearby pub, when Greg's embarrassment had finally subsided enough for him to to actually communicate. 

"Have you always been...like this?" 

"Yes, as long as I can remember."

"And how did it happen?" Greg titled his head slightly, then his face slid into a picture of understanding. 

"Oh... it's passed down through the family" He replied and he couldn't help but let out an uneasy laugh, "Don't worry, it's not contagious." 

Mycroft blinked nervously and his cheeks slightly purpled, "Oh no I wasn't inferring-"

"Mycroft, it's fine, I'm just teasing. I've just never actually had to have this conversation before." Every word felt alien on his tongue, however he couldn't help but warm to Mycroft in some way. The man was incredibly powerful, he could tell just from the imposing way in which he held himself, however the look of genuine enchantment that often captured his features reassured Greg somewhat. He might as well trust the man, it wasn't as if he had any choice. 

"You've never told anybody?" Mycroft asked, intensely curious. 

"I'm not quite naive enough to think that people would accept it, Mycroft" 

"So... nobody knows?"

"No one, well other than my closest family." Mycroft nodded carefully, taking another sip of his tea. He placed his mug down and stared intensely at Greg, sighing deeply. 

"Why are you so scared Gregory?"

"I'm sorry?", Greg frowned slightly, taken aback. 

"Whilst I'm explicitly aware of the problems your gift brings you, I can't help but notice how...startled you were when we met?"

Greg looked back at Mycroft with cautious eyes, before glancing down, suddenly deflated. All of a sudden he couldn't help but feel very small in this large room. 

"Mycroft, I've never met anybody like me before." It was almost too hard to force the words out. "For centuries, we've been hunted down, kept prisoner by vile people who wished to keep us as circus acts or even killed because people...they just don't understand. But even when my great grandmother was alive, from what I've heard, there were still alot of us out there." Greg couldn't help but be swept over by a wave of loneliness. "Things are different now though. I've never seen, never heard of the existence of a...person of my affliction and I can't help but think that there's something bad going on. So when I saw you that day, I'd never been so scared. I was convinced you were going to do something bloody awful to me and I had good reason to." 

"Gregory, I want you to listen to me very carefully." Mycroft's eyes were suddenly filled with energy and he leaned close with a great sense of purpose. "I would never, ever dream of hurting you. On that first day we met, you gave me something I could not never have imagined...you gave me hope. Even in the darkest of times, of which there have been many, my dream of finding you was the one thing that kept me going. You, Greg Lestrade, are extraordinary and extraordinary is something rare in this world. So if there is really something sinister going on, I want to help you. You don't have to do this alone."

Greg froze momentarily, in awe of what he heard. Mycroft Holmes wanted to help him? Greg wanted to cry with relief. Overcome with emotion, Greg felt his cheeks burn slightly and he looked down into his lap, unable to find the words to express the enigma of feelings inside of him.

"Thank you", he managed to choke out, flashing a small strained smile, which quickly evolved into a beaming grin. Blue eyes met enigmatic brown ones and the air around them practically fiizzled. 

"You're very welcome, Gregory." Mycroft smiled, rather beautifully, Greg observed. 

-

In his short life, Mycroft had experienced many wonderful things. Nothing however would ever compare to the sight before him, the incredible impossibility that was Greg Lestrade. Part of him expected to wake up at any moment, to find out it had all been a wild fantasy his brain had fabricated. But there he was, the boy from the beach in flesh and blood. Mycroft was positively giddy. 

So as he watched Greg, in admiration of his existence, Mycroft couldn't help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how short these chapters are, I'm just very busy with exams. Enjoy!


	5. A Private Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft proves his kindness to Gregory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on how long it's taken to upload! I'm unbelievably busy! Enjoy :)

As the days since the pond incident slid into weeks, Greg regularly found himself in the awe inspiring presence of Mycroft Holmes. Suddenly enlightened by the comfort of not having to deal with his secret alone, he found himself transfixed with the man's company, magnetised by his selfless desire to aid him. 

What had began as a one off meeting for coffee had soon escalated into an abundance of lunches in quiet, disguised places, in which he was more than happy to divulge the tales of his youth. Greg couldn't help but  adore the way in which Mycroft clung onto every sentence and he had even managed to tempt Mycroft into some secrets of his own. Greg had learnt that the Holmes had once owned a holiday home in Sherrinford and he had been amused to learn of the brothers brilliant adventures and escapades as children on the rocky shores of his own childhood town. 

Meanwhile, two more fake drowning victims had turned up  and the search for evidence had once again proved fruitless. Whilst Greg found himself once again stumped and de energized, Sherlock Holmes on the contrary seemed more electrified than ever, sinking his teeth into the case with every tooth and Greg soon found himself inundated with constant text messages, begging for information on any possible lead. Whilst he was more than willing to accept his help on this relentless case, he couldn't help but feel something slightly off about this one. An uncomfortable wave of nostalgia seemed to pry at his nerves but he couldn't quite place it. He ignored his instincts however, pushing on through days of useless interviews and ruled out suspects.

Greg slammed the door to his office and threw himself into his chair, sinking back tiresomely into its grazed leather. He'd just been forced to endure the nonsense of a witness whose account of events was undeniably bollocks. His skin practically thrummed with annoyance and he groaned loudly, as his phone vibrated, announcing the arrival of most likely another text from Sherlock. He really wasn't in the mood. 

Upon lifting his phone up however and squinting down at the screen, Greg smiled to himself pleasantly surprised yet inherently curious;

 

> CAR OUTSIDE FOR YOU, COME EVEN IF INCONVENIENT- MH.

-

"Are you going to tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Really, Gregory, you act like like you're not pleased to see me!"

Greg's cheeks purpled timidly as he grinned back at Mycroft Holmes. Upon slinking off early out of the yard, he'd been whisked away in Mycroft's customary black car, to a magnificent looking building that he guessed must have been somewhere in the north of the city. Its incredulous white stonework gleamed in the winter sunlight and he couldn't help but feel out of place in all its grandeur and elegance. Greg now wandered around Mycroft's own private quarters, taking in its gleaming furnishings and incredible craftsmanship. They were in a circular room, encapsulated by a tall book case that contained texts in languages that Greg had never even heard of. 

"This is the Diogenes Club," Mycroft declared, as if speaking to a room full of people far greater than Greg alone, "The meeting place  of minor political figures, such as myself."

"Minor?" Greg quipped, "I swear I just saw the chancellor!" Mycroft chuckled quietly, before turning to face him. 

"We're not here for that purpose however."

Greg couldn't help but be amused by Mycroft's dramatic ambiguity but managed to stifle a laugh as Mycroft strutted out of the room and through a tight door, that until this point had gone unnoticed. Following inquisitively, Greg stopped briefly to take in the sight before him. A steep twisting stone staircase lurched downwards, lit only by candle light. It was the kind of scene you saw in movies and Greg was suitably impressed. As he tiptoed down the staircase he was careful where to place his feet, over fear of falling headfirst down. After twenty seconds or so of moving gingerly down, Mycroft stopped abruptly in front of him. Gregory's stomach fluttered excitedly, suddenly aware of the closeness of their bodies, only inches apart from one another. He hoped Mycroft couldn't see his skin blush in the limp candle light. 

"Until very recently, I've had no use for this room. I inherited it with the rest of my quarters upon joining the club and quite frankly I've only ever stepped in it once or twice. Before you start worrying, just consider that no one, other than a few entrusted individuals and I know this room exists. I believe it may of some use to you." 

"Me?" Gregory breathed, unconvinced. 

"If you don't believe me, see for yourself." 

Mycroft turned and glided down to steps in front of him and Greg stupidly followed, completely blank as to what could possibly lie below. As he reached the bottom of the stairs however, he stopped in his tracks, in utter amazement. Before him, stood a large room, supported by magnificent stone pillars and lit only by a large dim chandelier. Ancient looking carvings painted beautiful illustrations in the white stone walls and gasped at the beautiful ceiling, with an impossibly regal mural etched onto it. The greatest part however, lie in the centre of the room. Dominating the floorspace, lay a huge pool, its crystal water glittering as it reflected the yellow candle light. Miraculous displays of green and blue tiles glimmered beneath the pools surface and set of stairs walked directly into the water. 

Greg turned to Mycroft in astonishment. He was utterly speechless. 

"I figured it would be nice for you to have somewhere to be swim. It's rather cold in the Thames at this time of year." 

"This is...for me?" 

"Well I suppose I have no intention of using it" Mycroft grinned. Every inch of Greg was filled with warmth and brilliance. He couldn't believe it. The only place he had to swim was in his bathtub for christ sake!

"This is wonderful Mycroft! Just wonderful!" he choked, "I don't know what to say..." 

"Really it's nothing" Mycroft countered. 

Stepping forward excitedly, Greg gazed into the cool, lapping waves. 

"You're welcome to use it whenever you need, providing of course I'm here, until we can work out some kind of arrangement to allow you access. Do you want to...try it out now?"

"Yes of course!" Greg beamed. A hard days work had taken its toll on him and more than ever he was desperate to dive into the clear water. 

"Right then," Mycroft chimed, now slightly awkward and he started to make him way toward to the staircase, "I'll...leave you to it?"

"No!" Greg interjected suddenly, taking even himself by surprise. He understood how curious the elder Holmes was and couldn't help but feel that he owed him a chance to see Greg in this form. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't like Mycroft's company, quite the opposite in fact. "You can stay, I mean that's if you want to?"

Mycroft paused for a moment, as if turning over the indulgency in his mind.

"Okay."

Greg nodded. Against the wall sat four cream sunloungers and he sat down upon one of them, untying his brogues and placing them tidily on the floor. Next, he shrugged off his blazer and let it rest on the lounger. It was essential he removed his clothes before transforming, or else they likely burst off when he changed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he caught a glimpse of Mycroft looking carefully at him and then glancing down sheepishly when his eyes met Gregs. When finally stripped down to just his boxers, he sent Mycroft a timid sideways glance and he nodded back, turning to face the wall on the lounger where he had sat. He kicked off his underwear and stepping onto the ledge of the pool, placed his arms in front of him and dived. 

His body propelled through clean clear water, so that he cut gently through and into it's depths. In an instant, scales climbed to touch his hips and he moved his tail quickly through the water, desperate to feel it rushing over his torso. The pool must have only been six, maybe seven foot deep but seemed to stretch on for miles. For the first time in years he could swim, carelessly and free of concern or caution and it was just wonderful! He proceeded to swim the length of the pool perhaps six or seven times before finally popping his head above the water and glided over to the pools edge, to face Mycroft. He smoothed his hair out of eyes, from where it hung having got rather long for him and smiled up at Mycroft, his eyes dancing in the candle light. 

"Thank you Mycroft."

"You're very welcome Gregory."

 

 


	6. Sherlock and the Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does some digging and reveals something that could split Mycroft and Greg apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear, this fic takes place in a canon where Greg and Mycroft have not met eachother other than the times detailed in this story. I was initially also going to swap narrative more often but I find it a lot easier to write from Greg's perspective. But who knows! 
> 
> We'll learn a lot more about the Sherrinford Project in the next chapter and how it ties all the fiction together. 
> 
> Thank you for all the support!

"Sherlock is definitely onto us, Mycroft."

Mycroft glanced up from his book on Hungarian political philosophy and raised an eyebrow back at Greg, whose own chin sat on his arms on the edge of the pool. His body and tail lay lazily behind him, floating on top of the water, the mosaics of scales glimmering profoundly with the reflections of the golden chandelier. Soft droplets of water fell limply from his iron locks and he blinked up at Mycroft, his eyes adjusting to the new world of life above water.

"What on earth has brought you to that conclusion Gregory?"

Greg didn't even know where to start. These last few weeks, as magical as they'd been had been undeniably tainted by the growing suspicion of Sherlock Holmes. 

_It had all began, when he'd ran into John, literally into him as he left the Diogenes club, after a swim on his lunch break. He almost always left through the back entrance, meticulously ensuring that no one, other than Mycroft saw him come or go. That day however, he'd been far too absorbed in the luxury of Mycroft's company to notice the time and had been left running late for a rather important meeting. Having insisted, rather stubbornly, that it'd be quicker to catch a tube rather than sit in the congestion of the lunch hour rush, he'd slid out on to the street. Looking rather dishevelled, he'd failed to finish even buttoning up his shirt before he smacked straight into John._

_"Sorry mate," John had grunted before looking up to meet Greg, a look of surprise claiming his features, "Oh hello Greg...what are you doing here?"_

_Johns eyes slipped from his unbuttoned shirt to his messy hair, that looked quite as if a strong wind had whisked it away. Greg failed to suppress a flush and he stammered idiotically, unsure of how to respond._

_"Erm...Just a case!" He mentally cursed himself, he should have been far more accustomed to the practice of lying._

_"Concerning Mycroft?" John asked, unconvinced. Greg's heart had fluttered slightly, under John's inquisitive gaze. "I was just coming to see him, Sherlock asked me to go pick up some files, or rather beg for them"._

_John gestured the building behind them and Greg restrained against the urge to facepalm._

_"So what are you doing here?" Greg didn't have a clue what to tell him! Nobody could know the pair knew one another!_

_"Sorry I'd love to chat but I've go to... I've got a meeting." He'd supplied hurriedly, before speeding away._

_-_

_"You're seeing someone."_

_"Sorry?" Greg had supplied. He was stood leaning against the doorframe of 221B, in a seemingly useless effort to get Sherlock to divulge his lead on the triple drowning._

_"You've changed your aftershave. You've lost weight too and you're wearing an expensive shirt, far more than you'd spend on yourself"_

_"I haven't changed my aftershave!" He countered, anxiously. He was right about the weight however, all the swimming must have done its trick and he'd borrowed a shirt from Mycroft, having got his own wet._

_"Fine, I can smell another man's aftershave on you." Sherlock quipped "Far nicer than the stuff you normally wear." Greg didn't know whether to be offended or not._

_"Lets play a game Lestrade! I'm bored."_

_Greg groaned._

_"I really don't have time for this Sherlock-" But Sherlock ignored him, twirling theatrically on the spot in his silk dressing gown._

_"You let me deduce who you're seeing and I'll tell you what I know about the drownings." This was definitely not going to end well but Greg knew he didn't have a choice._

_"You've dressed in a hurry, you've been doing that a lot recently, but the clothes you wear aren't always your own so you go to someones home often, someone who lives close enough for you to see in your lunch hour. Your shirt is expensive but it's not new, so it wasn't a gift but you borrowed it, so obviously a man."_

_"Obviously."_

_"The three drowning victims, they all worked for the civil service, all department of defence, on a classified project, there's your lead. And the man you're seeing, civil service too, senior, judging by the pen you're using". Greg looked down at his hand and sure enough there it was, engraved in eloquent gold letters 'HM Civil Service' on the pen he'd borrowed from Mycroft's desk._

_"In fact if I didn't know any better, I'd say from the pen and the perfume and the shirt that you were dating my -" Sherlock stopped abruptly, the cogs in his brain finally locking into gear. He bore his eyes deep into Greg's and Greg wanted nothing more than to disappear._

- 

"This isn't good Mycroft"

"You needn't  worry about Sherlock,  Gregory, besides you seem very bothered by the idea of you and I dating," Mycroft drawled, mischievously. 

"Mycroft! That's not the point!" He moaned, unable however to hide his smile, "If Sherlock already knows about us spending time together how long is it before he works out the rest?" 

"That's quite a jump to make, Gregory" Mycroft laughed. 

"I'm serious!" Greg groaned "I do not wish to be to be subjected to your brothers experiments."

"And you won't be!" Mycroft declared, confidently "Do you trust me to fix this for you?"

Greg turned the question over in his head cautiously, before sighing deeply. 

"I do." 

"Good, now what were you saying before about trying to get me to tell you classified state secrets?" 

Greg raised his eyebrow and launched into his explanation. As far as Sherlock could discern, all three three victims had worked for the ministry of defence, under some unknown project known as 'SP'. They'd spent days scouring records, but there was no mention of any location nor details of the project to be found anywhere on paper. 

"I'm afraid I don't have any knowledge that could help you, Gregory", Mycroft responded and Greg nodded, slightly deflated, "Besides, I hardly find it appropriate to tell civilians such sensitive information as classified governmental operations. We wouldn't want you leaking any state secrets, would we?"

"Excuse me" Greg scoffed dramatically, "But aren't I _your_ state secret?" 

"In a way, I suppose you are" Mycroft smiled, almost flirtatiously "So if I were you I'd keep your mouth shut if you don't want to end up in my personal aquarium, I've always fancied a fish tank-" 

Mycroft was cut off however by his own yelp of surprise as Greg flipped his tail, sending a small torrent of water in Mycroft's direction that splattered his tailored suit from head to toe. Greg giggled triumphantly, his eyes alight with his playful nature and Mycroft raised a comical fist, as if to curse him. He looked as if he were about to throw a banterous remark in Greg's direction but was cut off, by a faint sound somewhere above them.

A muffled thumping echoed through the room, as if something was banging on the ceiling above. What was that, knocking? No wait, it was footsteps! Greg gazed anxiously at Mycroft, his eyes widening fearsomely. Mycroft pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing for him to be quiet and frowned, listening intensely. Greg's heart was in his mouth, what is someone found him here? He could vaguely hear what must have been two voices, conversing loudly with one another. 

Mycroft stood up quickly, "Don't move Gregory, I'll sort this"

"Mycroft!" Greg exclaimed in disbelief. He wasn't just going to wait here like a sitting duck, waiting for the intruders to find him. Mycroft however had already charged up the staircase. He momentarily considered ducking beneath the water but decided against it, preferring his chances right now on two legs. So he dragged himself out of the water, with only a little difficulty and began frantically drying himself with a towel. When eventually back on two feet, hurriedly he dressed, but was careful to stay quiet, listening intensely to the conversation above. Creeping up the staircase, the sounds of voices got louder, as climbed each step. It sounded as if they were arguing, yet Mycroft's voice could be heard clearly above the madness, thank goodness he was okay. 

"Sherlock... I assure you I have nothing to hide!" He heard Mycroft exclaim. Sherlock. Of course it was Sherlock! He hated that man sometimes! It all made sense now and Greg didn't doubt the second set of footsteps belonged to John. 

"If you've nothing to hide then open the door!" The realisation of what they were talking about began to slip into Greg's mind. That was really not a good idea. 

"Mycroft!" 

"Sherlock!" 

There was a sudden thud of footsteps, coming closer towards him from where he hid behind the door. Oh God. Taking a deep breath, Greg grabbed the door handle, and stepped into the room, desperate to avoid Sherlock discovering the swimming pool. Three pairs of eyes drilled into him and he hovered there awkwardly, the blood rushing from his face. 

"Lestrade?" 

John was the first to break the silence, confusion flooding his features. Sherlock's eyes flashed to Greg and then widened, flooded with realisation and what was that...anger?

"Mycroft? Really! Lestrade? Of all people? So he's your new goldfish."

"Hey!" Greg shouted instinctively, initially offended at being referred to as a fish only then to realise the context of the statement.

"Sherlock I want you to leave here at once!" Mycroft yelled and Greg couldn't notice the unhideable nervousness that had taken over Mycroft. His pupils were dilated wide and his left hand quivered slightly. 

"Why?" Sherlock spat back at him, "This is the perfect audience! Don't you think John?" 

John frowned, looking rather uncomfortable. 

"The perfect audience for what?" Greg questioned, very curious. 

"It seems my dear brother has been hiding something from us." Sherlock announced, captivating the room "John and I did some investigating on the victims of the drownings and it appears Mycroft is in it thick." He sent a scowl in Mycroft's direction. "

"All three worked on the same top secret project. We visited an old friend of ours, Dr Stapleton, a scientist from Baskerville and she was more than happy to cooperate. She told us that 'SP' was a project started by Mycroft Holmes, seventeen years ago." 

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned, his voice full of dread. 

"So Mycroft, would you like to tell us about the Sherrinford Project?" 

 


	7. The Sherrinford Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's past comes back to haunt him.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: Some slightly graphic imagery of wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

"What's the Sherrinford project, Mycroft?"

The words that left his mouth were low and strange, sounding as if they'd been forced through a small grate and into the study. He didn't know what the think. He didn't understand. Nothing made sense, nothing at all. What did Sherrinford have to do with any of this? Greg balled his fists up tightly and sank deeper into his chair. The four men sat tensely, in finely sculpted chairs, facing one another. John glanced backwards and forwards around the room, almost as confused as Greg was. Sherlock meanwhile glared intently into his brother's eyes, not once dropping his gaze. They'd retired to Mycroft's study, when Sherlock had finally stopped yelling at his brother. 

Mycroft took a pained, solemn look at Gregory before swallowing nervously, dropping hands onto his desk. 

"Before I begin, I want you to know that...I never would have dreamed it would have got this far."

"Well, obviously it's gone far enough that three people have been killed because of it" Sherlock growled. 

Mycroft ignored him, his eyes flickering from Greg to the floor and back again. 

"It's not surprising you struggled to find any record of the project, it's strictly off the books..."

"Mycroft get to the point" John suddenly interjected, impatiently, "What do they do there?"

Mycroft sighed defeatedly. What could Mycroft be responsible for that could be so bad? He didn't know if he wanted to know.

"The Sherrinford Project was formed to investigate...certain disparities in what we see as the natural world. For hundreds of years, there have been sightings, of things that we could not explain, thus the project was formed to conduct further research into these anomalies." 

"What kind of anomalies?" John asked, curiously. 

"Frankly you wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

For a moment the room went quiet, each man turning what they had heard over in their mind. Greg continued to stare at Mycroft however, his heart thumping quickly. 

"I formed the project seventeen years ago, after I saw something I didn't understand and couldn't explain. A facility was built a few miles up the coast from Sherrinford. It's a quaint seaside place, where Sherlock and I used to spend our summer holidays" he added, the last part mostly to John. "I swear however, I had no idea that the project was still functioning, to that capacity. I was told I would be informed of any significant discoveries."

"Wait a second...can we go back a bit" John said, frowning deeply, "You say you founded this project seventeen years ago, you must have only been nineteen or so at the time yourself. What allowed you to form this whole thing by yourself."

"Isn't it obvious" Sherlock sneered, "He gave the right people something, something they couldn't start all this without."

"I'm not proud of what I did, Sherlock."

"What did you give them?" Greg burst out, unable to hold his tongue for any longer. John shot him a cautious look. 

"When I encountered, this anomaly, I was able to collect a...skin sample of the individual...DNA."  

Greg wanted to scream. He wanted to walk right over to Mycroft and punch him in the face. But what good would that do? These scientists...they had his DNA! For all he knew he was on the verge of being captured at any moment and he was completely helpless to do anything. 

"Mycroft..what are they doing at Sherrinford? What are they investigating."

Mycroft froze, instinctively, his eyes fixed on Greg. Greg however had had enough. In that moment, he was so mad, so unbelievably furious that he didn't care about his secret.

"Tell them!" He snapped, nastily. Sherlock squinted at Greg, looking puzzled. 

"They're investigating... the supernatural...mermen. It was under my instruction for them to try to...try to capture one of these creatures."

This was too much. Was that what Mycroft thought of him? A creature? He didn't even see him as a person, he was just an animal to play with and experiment upon. John was the first the break the silence, with a muffled but ridiculous high pitched laugh. 

"Is this a joke Mycroft?"

"No...it's not." Sherlock answered, his brow rising in disbelief at what he deduced . "You're telling the truth." 

Mycroft nodded, sadly. 

"You saw a merman?"

"I did." 

"That's impossible!" John denounced, shaking his head, unconvinced. The Doctor almost looked amused.

"So...you saw this merman, you created this facility to uncover what you saw and now something is going on there, something so bad that the people who work there are likely being killed because of it." Sherlock asked. 

"It seems that way." 

Greg wanted to get out of this room. He never wanted to see Mycroft Holmes again. The one person he had whole heartedly trusted, who he'd told everything to and this whole time he'd been lied to. How ironic it was, that Greg had been so fearful of Sherlock's experiments when the real monster was the man who he had begun to fall for, the danger that was right in front of him. 

When Mycroft had finally forced John and Sherlock from the club, Sherlock still clinging on to missing pieces, he turned to face Greg, his eyes still and apologetic. 

"Gregory..."

"Don't!" Greg snapped, furiously. His heart hurt so badly he wanted to cry." I...I trusted you!" He stammered breathlessly. 

"Gregory, please believe me I had no idea that the project was still running! I thought they'd have given up, just like I did."

"Cut the crap, Mycroft." He spat back, "Don't you dare come and find me! I never want to see you again."

His words stung with venom and he almost relished in the fact that they were doing such damage. He felt like a child, utterly weak and powerless. Storming over to the door, he slammed it shut behind him and paced out of the building, leaving Mycroft to do nothing but watch, helplessly, as he went. 

On the day Greg had first returned home, following Mycroft and his first fateful meeting, when he was only seventeen years old, Greg had experienced the worst pain he thought possibly imaginable. He'd been forced to let the salt water burn his open flesh and had limped home in a dire state. His mother had taken one look as his raw, beaten side and burst into tears, as her only son lay trembling and grey, on sheets that were already stained with blood. Fearful of what could happen if they'd taken him to a hospital, his mother and father had no choice but to clean his wound and stitch it back together but had no anesthetic to treat him. So, they'd placed a gag in his mouth, in an effort to muffle his screams as his mother tearfully fused his skin back together. As brave as he thought himself to be at seventeen years old, the incredible pain that ripped through his body reduced him to nothing but a screaming child, holding onto his dad for dear life, as the needle was plunged in and out of his skin. 

No pain however, would ever conquer the sense of utter betrayal Greg felt, as stormed away from the Diogenes Club, on that fateful Tuesday afternoon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Sherrinford is the place where Greg grew up, where Sherlock and Mycroft visited as children and where the project had been assembled. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. The Truth of the Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries to run away and Mycroft tries to change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet :)

Greg was awoken by the soft, warming glow of winter sunlight, shimmering through the curtains. For a moment he stirred, blinking slowly into the still air. Outside London was waking and the rhythmic song of birds tweeting drifted into his bedroom.  His stomach lurched, the memories of the previous day flooding into his mind and he pulled his quilt closer to him, as if to cocoon himself from the horrors of the outside world. If he lie still and pulled the duvet over himself, he could almost imagine a world that was normal. A world with a husband and children and no fear of being locked away in fish tank for the rest of his life. 

The world he'd wished for however was far from the world he found himself stuck in, as a piece of a puzzle that didn't belong with other people. He'd been foolish to think all these years, that a life of normalcy was even within his grasp. Of course however, inevitably, his disjointed ridiculous existence had crept up on him in the form of Mycroft Holmes. He'd exposed himself to Mycroft, let him see the parts of him he didn't even like himself. But this whole time, he'd been likely plotting against him, ready to ship him off to Sherrinford at a moment's notice. 

The worst part was, at one point, Greg thought he might have loved him. 

Sliding carefully out of bed, he dressed quickly into the few items he hadn't packed away into a travel bag late last night. He'd spent the night stoic and sleeplessly, finally passing out, exhausted sometime early in the morning. Taking a final look into his flat, Greg slid out into the hall and padded softly away, as the clock struck seven am. 

-

Shivering still under his warm winter coat, Greg stared out onto the train platform. The station was oddly quiet for this time of the day, the only people present, the odd businessman or couple milling about. A cruel wind snapped at his exposed skin as he sat on a bench. Every so often, a train would rush by, sweeping along the tracks and stopping briefly in front of him. He couldn't quite bring himself however to complete the arduous task of boarding. For he knew doing so would be the first step towards leaving everything behind; his job, his life, his home and he wasn't ready. 

"Gregory."

In his dazed state, he hadn't even noticed the tall figure sit down beside him, wrapped in his own ornate winter coat. At first he jolted, a brief moment of panic rushing through him, then a strange calm came over him, as he handed himself over to fate. There was no point in running, trying to hide, trying to start a fresh. He had no doubt that Mycroft currently had a hundred men watching them, waiting to arrest him and send him off for experimentation. 

"I suppose I'm not very good at this." He let out limply. Mycroft examined him, his eyes apologetic. 

"At what?"

"At running away." He grimaced. Mycroft sighed, staring into Greg's tired eyes. 

"You're a good man Gregory," Mycroft offered, "It's not easy for good men to be on the wrong side of the law." 

"And look where that's got me." He moaned back. He looked down at his feet then slowly lifted his head to meet Mycroft's eyes. "I'm not going to try to run, I'll come quietly."

Mycroft nodded and looked out onto the train tracks. Not far from them, a father and his daughter played on the platform, the young girl giggling excitedly. 

"Where were you going to go?"

"I have a cousin, up north. It's where I was to go if I ever got into trouble" Greg replied solemnly, then he shook his head, a wave of anger spilling over him. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this!" He scoffed. 

"Gregory-", Mycroft attempted but Greg cut him off sharply. 

"No, save it Mycroft. Just get on with it!"

"Gregory I'm not here to take you away." Greg stared at him, his eyes widening. "I'm here to apologise." 

"What?" Greg asked, his tone softening. He didn't understand, but that was becoming a recurring theme of his life. 

"You deserve an explanation, it's the least I can do." Greg remained hesitant, his frame tense and nervous. Somewhere at the back of his brain, the niggling urge to distrust Mycroft still remained but as he delved deeply into the politicians eyes, Greg saw nothing but honesty. 

Mycroft swallowed and help his hands in his lap. 

"When I first proposed the project, I was frankly in a very bad place. I had been so sure of myself, sure of everything that I knew, then of course you came along and shattered everything. I thought I had perhaps, made it up in my head, it seemed too impossible to be real. I was promised a promotion in return for my knowledge about you. It was never about that though, all I cared about was finding you and it felt like the only way.  Until yesterday, I truly had no idea the project was still running. I hoped so badly it wasn't, that it'd been closed down by now, but sadly this isn't the case and from the sounds of it the project has gone way beyond its authority. I am so sorry Gregory."

Greg remained tense and still, his mind turning over what Mycroft had told him. He wanted to hate him, but he couldn't. Mycroft had done what any man would have done when faced with the impossible. 

"I understand why you did what you did, Mycroft." Greg murmured, finally. He suddenly looked younger, the panic and stress beginning to drip away from his face. A sensation of tranquility had taken over him, as he admired Mycroft. He really was quite beautiful. His breath came out slowly and in broken strands. "I forgive you."

"I meant what I said the first time we spoke, I'm going to help you, Gregory." Mycroft slid along the bench, closer to Greg, so that their thighs just touched. 

"You're going to shut down the project?" 

"Yes, whatever it takes."

Greg raised his eyebrows, utterly captivated. 

"What if it puts you in danger?" Greg breathed. 

"It'll be worth it." Mycroft responded. 

"You really are extraordinary, Mycroft Holmes." Greg couldn't hold the words any longer. It was if weeks of longing moments, pining for Mycroft had suddenly boiled to a head. He couldn't keep it in any longer. 

The next few moments, were still blurred together in Gregory's mind, but fragments emerged over time. He recalled so lovingly, the feeling of Mycroft's hand, cupping his cheek delicately, their faces inches apart. Greg stared intensely into Mycroft's eyes, as their lips met one another, Mycroft's lips, soft and careful upon his own. Then the kiss deepened momentarily and Greg's stomach sailed, butterflies fluttering inside of him. When they finally withdrew from on another, Greg noticed that Mycroft's hand was placed gently upon his own and Mycroft's face was pink with a gorgeous flush. 

"I'm going to look after you." Mycroft spoke softly. 

"We're going to look after each other." Greg replied. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you'll like this chapter!


	9. Snowflakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft make plans for the future and a new threat creeps out of the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long this has taken! Enjoy :)

Much to Mycroft's surprise life soon slipped into a domestic bliss, or as close to as could be expected with the pair of them. They soon returned to their routine speedy lunchtime meetings, only now accompanied by tentative hand holding and enamoured gazes. Often in the evening, they'd dine together in candlelit restaurants squeezed into the most intimate corners of London. Beyond the privacy of their brief shared meetings however, the pair remained professional as ever, nodding knowingly at one another whenever Mycroft swept into a crime scene. Despite their best efforts, the elated glances they shared had not gone unnoticed but frankly, Mycroft couldn't find it within himself to care. For the first time in his life, real contentment felt so close within his grasp, despite the ever looming presence of the Sherrinford Project over their heads. 

On this particular evening, Greg sat in the bay window of Mycroft's swanky London apartment. Occasionally he would glance away from the dark cloudy sky outside of the window to smile at Mycroft, who lounged upon the plush sofa. They'd skipped eating tonight, the night above looking far too ominous for Greg's liking and instead had retreated to Mycroft's home. The apartment, whilst still a magnificent affair, was understated in it's grandeur, half sleek modern surfaces and half Edwardian fastenings. Mycroft watched Greg as he continued to blink out into the darkness,the sky quickly transitioning to a bloated red hue and the clouds above swelling. Maybe it would snow; it was cold enough, with a fire in the hearth warm and crackling. Mycroft watched as, timidly, Greg reached a hand out and placed it on the glass, the freezing winter air quickly snaking into his skin. The crisp cold gripped so that he shuddered slightly and Mycroft watched as he placed his hands back in his lap, frowning deeply. 

"Is there something on your mind, Gregory." Mycroft inquired. He couldn't help notice the look of deep thought that constrained Gregory's features. Greg hadn't noticed him staring curiously at him as he sat facing the window. Gregory turned to face him quickly and Mycroft admired him carefully. In the few months they had known one another, Greg had transformed before his eyes. Once a tired yet handsome detective, he now looked younger and almost spritely. His silver hair shone ephemerally with a new glow and he looked more slender, his body toned by endless visits to the underground pool. 

"It's nothing!" Greg answered unnaturally fast. 

He'd always been a terrible liar. Mycroft rose from the sofa and glided over to where Greg sat on the window ledge. Giving Greg a reassuring smile, Mycroft took one of Greg's hands into his own and ran his fingers gently over Greg's palm.He felt Greg's muscles relax beneath his fingers. Surely enough, thick white snowflakes had begun to cascade past the window, glistening and floating, as if being lowered by imaginary strings. 

"I was just thinking...I've never been out in the snow." He kept his eyes nervously upon Mycroft. Mycroft raised his brow, unusually shocked. He'd failed to account for how sheltered of a childhood Gregory had had. As a child he must have been forced to watch the winter through glass window panes and Mycroft could only imagine how envious Gregory must have been at the sight of boys and girls his age sledging down the winding streets of his home town. 

"Understandable", Mycroft said, taking Greg's other hand in his own. Gregory's hands were frighteningly cool. "I'm sure your mother and father did what they thought would protect you." 

"Yes...Yes that's what I was thinking about." Greg responded, turning exactly what he wanted to say over in his mind. Finally, Greg swallowed and pulled Mycroft close to him, so that the space between them disappeared. 

"I've been thinking and I want to do everything. All the couple stuff, the romantic stuff, everything!" He burst out. Mycroft replied him a strange, considering look. 

"Whilst I in no way object to this, Gregory, may I ask what has brought this on?" He asked. Greg sighed slightly deflated. He looked lost for words, yet Mycroft willed the words out of him with the soft smile of his eyes. 

"My whole life Mycroft, I've had to worry about...this" He explained, gesturing awkwardly to his legs, "It's like I've been looking at life through a glass window. But I've had enough! I want to do everything and see everything...and feel everything that everybody else gets to feel and who better than to do it with than you."

"But you're not everybody else, Gregory." The words slipped out before Mycroft had even been aware of their existence and his cheeks purpled immediately. He watched in horror as Greg's face fell before him. He felt awful. Greg suddenly looked rather embarrassed, blushing at his outburst. 

"No, no I'm not." He muttered lamely, turning back to face the window.

"Gregory..." Mycroft moaned. 

"I'm just being stupid." He declared. 

"No, you're not." 

For a few moments, the pair slipped into a state of expectant silence. Finally, Mycroft straightened up and giving Greg an unplaceable look, swept out of the room. 

"Follow me." He threw over his shoulder and as expected, Gregory followed. 

-

Greg stood timidly, peering out of the doorway and into the courtyard. Before him, great white tufts of slow floated ghost-like through the air. Dragging him, ironically, into a large oak closet, Mycroft had kitted him out in a thick winter coat, gloves, hat and warm woollen scarf, so that every inch of skin seemed to be snuggled into luxuriously cosy fabric. The coat in particular was lined with a soft silk fabric, mimicking the sensation of water against his skin. Greg's eyes darted from the swollen winter sky to Mycroft, who stood, leaning casually against his umbrella in the centre of the patio. The night was frightfully cold, yet Mycroft seemed to exude a brilliant glare of warmth that only Greg could feel. 

"I look ridiculous Mycroft!" Greg laughed. 

"On the contrary, Detective, I think you look rather dashing." Greg grinned as Mycroft sauntered over to him, taking Greg's own hand in his own. Gently, he lead Greg into the courtyard so that delicate snowflakes clung to his clothes. He gazed around in wonder, transfixed by the snow around him and he suddenly felt incredibly young once again. 

From an outside perspective, it must have looked like something from a christmas card; a brilliant blizzard fluttering through the air as their arms wrapped around one another. Greg was only acutely aware of the winter weather however, far too distracted by the soft pressure of Mycroft's lips upon his own. When they eventually parted, he grinned up at Mycroft. 

"Now this is all terribly cliche, kissing in the snow." 

"This is just the beginning, Gregory."

At that, Greg practically beamed. 

Mycroft attempted to convince Greg to have him driven home, however once having pried himself from the elder Holmes grasp, he insisted on making his own way home. The sensation of Mycroft's breath on his skin had left Greg incredibly warm and flustered and he craved the feeling of the night air on his skin. After wishing Mycroft an affectionate goodbye, mostly communicated by the hungry chasing of one anothers lips, he strolled out onto the street, a youthful spring in his step. He wished he could stay in this moment forever, those blissful memories of happiness vividly etched into his mind. He almost couldn't believe it, in all it's unlikeness, that a normal life with Mycroft really lie before him. 

Perhaps it was his elated happiness that meant he didn't even notice the figure advance behind him as he turned the street corner. It was only in the last few seconds, as his attacker clawed out at him, arm outstretched that Greg realised of the impending danger. One moment he was breathing normally, the next a rough piece of cloth soaked in chemicals was clamped over his face and nose, whilst a brutish arm grappled to restrain him. He immediately tried push the villain off him, striking out in a panic. His heart began to thump horribly fast and he struggled to blink through burning eyes but Greg's resistance was no use. Already his head swam violently and in a matter of moments, his head slammed against the pavement, dark spots shrouding his vision. As his consciousness wavered, he made one last attempt to fight off whoever had done this, catching a fuzzy glimpse of dark hair and cold eyes, as he drifted off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I've had the most insane few weeks. Greg's mystery attacker will quickly be revealed.


	10. A Silver Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's kidnapper is revealed and Sherlock reveals all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finish college soon so hopefully uploads will be a bit more frequent! I'm also obsessed with the supernatural genre, so expect a few more of those works in the distant future... :)

If Greg was ever kidnapped, he could almost imagine what it would be like. He'd likely be imprisoned somewhere, white, industrial and sterile, packed with sadistic scientists, eager to experiment upon him to their hearts desire. He wouldn't have expected however, to be awoken to the feeling of soft wool against his cheek. He stirred ever so slightly, then immediately tensed, incredibly aware of the danger likely inches beside him. He daren't even fathom the culprit behind this. Head throbbing painfully, he listened intensely, searching for any sound whilst keeping his eyes tightly shut. His attacker must have delivered him a pretty hefty blow to the head, for his temple thrummed violently. 

The sound of soft murmuring reached his ears, yet he couldn't quite search through the words to make any sense of what they were saying. There was an odd sense of familiarity however that Greg couldn't place. Something in the tones of their voices was hauntingly familiar. Taking in a silent breath of anticipation, Greg willed his eyes open. He way lying on a sofa, from what he could tell. Blinking through the pale sunlight that streamed through a gap in the curtains, a slow realization flooded his mind. He recognised those pillows and the garish patterned wallpaper.  Finally, as his vision adjusted, he came to a realisation as to where he was. This wasn't some scientists lab. He was in 221B. 

An immediate, instinctive rush of anger ran through him. This time Sherlock had gone too far. He began to struggle to sit himself up on the lounger but his head was still incredibly foggy and he jumped when a strong pair of hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him to sink back into the fabric. 

"Easy Greg." John's level voice cut through his frustrated confusion and Greg's eyes came to focus on the doctor. He looked tired around the eyes yet he seemed anxious and awake. Greg was now becoming able to make sense of the scene before him. 

He attempted to open his mouth, to grasp some understanding of what on earth was going on but his throat was so hoarse he couldn't even speak. Choking on air, he nodded graciously when John rushed over with a glass of water. Sipping from the glass carefully, with his usual precaution, he cleared his throat then squinted at John through the patchy light.

"What happened?" He questioned. John's eyes flashed in frustration. He looked angry, yet deeply apologetic. 

"Sherlock." 

Almost exactly at the moment, the flat was shaken by the front door being slammed ferociously and the relative calm that had settled was ruptured by Sherlock's screeching tone entering the house.

"For God's sake Mycroft." Sherlock bellowed through the walls and John placed his head in his hands. Two pairs of footsteps clattered up the stairs and the flat door was thrown open. Sherlock swept through the door, stamping childishly as he went, followed by a stern looking Mycroft.

"Your behaviour is absolutely inexcusable!" Mycroft ranted, glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock dropped into his chair and scowled. 

"You should be thanking me!" Sherlock roared back. "You're lucky I got to Lestrade first."

Greg's head spun, utterly confused by the situation. He couldn't even begin to make sense of what was going on. 

"What are you talking about?" He spluttered, "What's going on." 

Mycroft sat himself beside Greg on the end of the sofa and cautious glance to him. He suddenly felt very anxious. 

"Sherlock took it upon himself to attempt to kidnap you last night." Mycroft explained. 

Greg choked on the gulp of water he'd taken. 

"Now you're just making it sound bad." Sherlock said, defensively. "There really was no need to have me arrested." 

Greg was beginning to feel very annoyed. 

"Explain. Now!" He cut in, sending an unimpressed glare at all three of the men. He was far from amused by all the theatrics. 

Sherlock however didn't look at all intimidated. 

"I think you're the one who's got some explaining to do, Greg." 

Greg's jaw dropped. Sherlock actually knew his name. This was highly alarming, why was he taking such an interest in him? That was when the penny dropped. 

"Sherlock, just tell him." John moaned. 

Sighing melodramatically, Sherlock dropped into his chair. 

"I was only trying to help. Frankly I'm astounded that neither of you noticed you've been being followed, Lestrade." Sherlock then turned to his brother and added. "You're slipping, brother." 

Greg could barely believe what he was hearing. How hadn't he noticed he was being followed? He'd always been so vigilant, so careful. 

"Despite my brothers lapse in...attention, I took it upon myself to get you out of harms way."

"How ridiculous", Mycroft interjected, "It was hardly necessary to abduct him." Greg could tell Mycroft felt awful about not having known about his stalkers, for he looked incredibly sheepish. 

"Actually it was essential that he couldn't be traced!" Sherlock countered, "I'm sure you are well aware of the danger Lestrade's condition puts him in,"

Greg instantly froze, a cold shiver flushing through his spine. Sherlock knew. This was a disaster. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." He spat back. 

"I knew there must be a reason why my brother was so interested in you. I must commend you, you kept your secret very well. It just took some digging." His tone changed, as he slipped into his deductions. "How long have you lived in London, Lestrade?"

Greg's heart thumped nervously. 

"All my life." He lied.

"False". Sherlock declared. "You were born in Sherrinford, I've heard it's a lovely seaside town. You moved to London eighteen years ago, a year after you met my brother." 

Greg thought he might be sick. John frowned deeply, obviously as confused as Greg had been. 

"What?" John interrupted. "You've met before?" 

"They met nineteen years ago." Sherlock continued, against Greg's mental willing of Sherlock to stop. "John, we have before us the answer to Mycroft's greatest case, the boy from the beach." 

Greg watched in panic, as the cogs in John's head slowly clicked into place. John's features settled into an expression of shock and he blinked rapidly. Greg hung his head in shame. 

"That's impossible", John murmured, staring at Greg in disbelief. "You're a...merman?" 

"No...no this is ridiculous!" Greg burst out. He couldn't do this. Who knew what Sherlock would do if he knew? He got the idea the kidnapping was only the beginning. Jumping up unsteadily from where he ly on the sofa, he stormed over to the door, desperate to get out of the flat. He then spun around and glared at Sherlock. 

"I've had enough of this Sherlock!" He yelled "You're lucky I don't have you arrested... again!" Sherlock wasn't looking at him however. He was staring at the half-full glass of water, that Greg had left on the coffee table. His eyes then flashed from the water to Greg, narrowing deviously.

"Sherlock! Don't!" Greg growled and he heard Mycroft utter a similar statement. Both of them however, were too late, as Sherlock grabbed the cup from the coffee table and threw its contents over Greg. 

For a split second, Greg froze , as he felt the rare sensation of running water over his face. It's cool touch dripped down onto his shirt, splattering his skin. Then he looked up at Sherlock, eyes blazing and darted out of the room. Acutely aware of the yelling that had broke out in the flat, he slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. He tore off his shirt and was about to reach to lock the door, when the familiar tingling sensation spread over his legs. Quickly loosing his balance, his body fell forward, slamming onto the tiled floor and he groaned as looked back at his bottom half.  Sure enough, his tail had emerged, silver scales dimly lit in what must have been the morning sunlight . Greg gazed up, eyes open wide, as the door was pushed timidly open from the outside, to reveal the three men looking in amazement down at him. 

Sherlock lips split into a smile.

 "Brilliant." He murmured. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sherlock and John know Greg's secret! What will they choose to do with this knowledge?


	11. Masterplan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock devises a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long and is rather short. I have honestly had the most insane time recently so haven't been able to update. Enjoy!

Needless to say, Greg wasn't having the best of days. He was cold, tired and uncomfortable. Most importantly, however, he was going to strangle Sherlock Holmes. Staring furiously at the detective, he held back a violent outburst, his teeth tightly gritted. He had every reason to be annoyed, not least over the loss of a perfectly good pair of pants. 

When they'd finally been able to remove Sherlock from the bathroom, gawping at Greg as if he was some exotic zoo animal, Mycroft had helped him dress into a spare set of John's clothing. Mycroft was clearly desolate at the prospect of having failed to protect him. Greg knew it wasn't his fault however and smiled weakly,leaning up to place a tentative kiss on the other man's forehead. 

Now Greg was seated awkwardly on the sofa he had woken upon only an hour before, eyes drilling into Sherlock's. Despite fitting well over Greg's torso, the coarse woolen fibre of John's jumper prickled against his skin, causing him to fidget awkwardly. 

"In my defence-"

"Shut up, Sherlock." Mycroft glared at his younger brother, his eyes full of loathing. 

"You had no right!" Greg roared, his patience finally snapping. His knuckles were white from the might of his grip.  "I might have told you, I might have even shown you!" 

Greg watched as Sherlock opened his mouth, then shut it again. Sherlock eyed Greg with a careful expression , then proceeded to slip into a sulk, his bottom lip jutting out childishly. Greg let out a shaky breath and steadied his temper, loosening his hands so that his fingernails didn't nip into his skin. 

"Explain Sherlock, everything." 

Finally accepting defeat, Sherlock obliged. He divulged how he had first become suspicious of Greg when he'd began seeing Mycroft and the faint smell of chlorine that hung on his clothing whenever they'd meet one another. It hadn't been long before Sherlock had been able to finger the thread pulled tight between Greg and the Sherrinford Project. He'd even gone as far as to break into Mycroft's office, much to his disdain. It wasn't until Sherlock had began to follow Greg however that he'd realised Greg had some Stalkers of his own. 

"The people following you are undoubtedly from the Sherrinford Project and it's likely only a matter of time before you are..." Sherlock paused hesitantly, a look of sympathy beholding him. Quickly regaining his cool composure, Sherlock looked Greg square in the eyes, ..."detained."

Greg flung his head into his hands. How could he had been so stupid. He'd been running around with Mycroft like some giddy school boy, too ignorant to care for the attention he was likely drawing to himself. The skeletal hands of fate were finally catching up on him, ready to drag him into a life of experimentation and God knows what. 

"So that's it." He moaned dismally, "It's over." 

Greg felt the pressure of Mycroft's hand on his shoulder but his body felt to cool to recieve it's warmth. 

"No, it's not over." There was something almost of excitement in Sherlock's voice, rising to a clear and brilliant pitch. Greg lifted his head and glanced through his fingers. "If the Sherrinford Project knew for certain you were the man they were looking for they would have taken you by now, but they haven't, so that gives us time."

"Time to do what?" Mycroft questioned anxiously. 

"Time to pay Sherrinford a little visit and shut it down for good." 

\- 

"Gregory, this is not up for debate." 

Mycroft gazed down at his lover in disbelief, amazed by his incredulous stubborn behaviour. Mycroft was currently trying to pack Greg's clothes into a travel bag, to little to success. He was to stay with Mrs Hudson in 221B, whilst Sherlock, John and Mycroft went down to visit the Sherrinford Project but was utterly against the idea. He knew Greg wanted to come with them, frightened to leave Mycroft to the horrors of whatever was behind the Sherrinford Project but Mycroft knew it would be reckless for Greg to go anywhere near Sherrinford. Meanwhile Greg eyed Mycroft miserably from where he sat cross legged on the bed, his face full of worry. 

"I really don't think this is a good idea Mycroft!" Gregory argued back yet again. "I don't want to put you in danger, people have been killed!" 

Sighing, Mycroft dropped onto the bed and knelt in front of Gregory. His cool brown eyes were glazed with tension and peered back at Mycroft as if willing him to stay.

"I made a mistake, Gregory. I created this project and now it is time to bring it to an end. I owe that to you." 

Tentatively, Mycroft raised his hand and cupped Gregory's cheek. The mans skin was smooth beneath his fingers, bronzed with a dewy glow. In fact, his entire being was encapsulated within an unnatural light, one that seemed to make his silver hair shimmer and even the darkest point of his eyes glimmer. 

"Once this is all over, we're going to do all the things you've always wanted."

"But none of that matters if it's not with you." The words that slipped out of Gregory's mouth were timid and weak and Mycroft's heart sank slightly at his concern. Shuffling over to the head of the bed, Mycroft lay his head against the pillow, gently pulling Greg down to do the same, so that the faced one another. 

"I'm here now." 

Mycroft wasn't quite sure how long they lay there for, fingers intertwined with one another, the only sound the, gentle rise and fall of one another's chests. All he knew was that before he knew, silvery sunlight was flooding through the windowpanes, letting him know it was time to leave. Mycroft pressed a last kiss to Gregory's temple and slunk out of the flat, his next stop; Sherrinford.


	12. Making Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg confronts his stalker and makes a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter for you! Thank you for your patience.

"Freeze!" 

Greg slammed his suspect swiftly against the brick wall, careful to keep the writhing man within his grasp. He and Sally had been tailing him for weeks, finally catching up to him after a pursuit on foot. Cool air rushing through his lungs, he cracked a smile as he slapped a pair of handcuffs onto the man's wrists. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to run that fast! 

"Blimey Sir!" Sally puffed, finally rounding the corner into the alleyway. Leaning against the exposed brickwork, she grinned with a look of admiration. "Been jogging recently?"

"Something like that." He quipped back joyfully. Catching this perp had been just the break he needed to keep his mind off things. As Donovan dealt with the formalities of the arrest, Greg slipped his phone from his pocket, sighing when he found it blank of messages. No news was better than bad news, he supposed. Keeping Mycroft from consuming his thoughts was proving harder than he'd anticipated. 

He'd been gone for two days and they'd agreed not to contact one another, yet Greg still found himself pondering for the sweet limericks of Mycroft's voice. Greg meanwhile had been staying with Mrs Hudson in 221B, an experience that had been surprisingly pleasant, despite his worry. She was motherly, but didn't stifle him, replacing coddling with her eccentricities and amusing anecdotes. 

"I'll go call for a van." He offered and Sally nodded back curtly. Wondering out of the alleyway, Greg stepped onto the buzzing street. It was around midday and the street hummed with the chatter of passers by. Putting in the call for a vehicle to put the criminal into custody, he was about to return to help Sally when something caught his eye. Or someone, should he say. 

A woman, dressed in a red winter coat, stood rigidly staring at him from the other side of the road. Her eyes were wide and alert and her blonde hair shone with an angelic quality. Greg watched her visibly tense as he made eye contact but within seconds she'd drifted back into the crowd of people drifting along the pavement. There was something definitely familiar about the woman. He'd seen her before, for certain. His train of thought however was quickly cut by the ring of sirens pulling along side him and Sally hauling the suspect out of the alleyway. 

- 

"Greg, dear, you really ought to eat something. They'll be nothing left on you."

Greg looked up from his paper to give Mrs Hudson a warm smile. She stood above him, peering down at him as if he was petulant child who refused to eat his vegetables. Mrs Hudson was definitely taking her duty of keeping an eye on Greg quite literally. 

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson, really." He replied, forcing the anxiety out of his voice. Mrs Hudson however looked unconvinced. 

"Rubbish. Go and get yourself something from the chippy." She ordered. Reluctantly, Greg obliged and dragged himself to his feet. 

"Oh and Gregory..."

"Yes?" 

"We're out of milk."

Shrugging on his coat and a silky plaid scarf Mycroft had gifted him, Greg slunk out of the flat, closing the front door behind him. Almost on cue, his stomach gurgled grievously. Mrs Hudson was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Ready to speed off into the evening, a sight greeted his eyes however that froze him to the spot. There she was again, the blonde haired woman, standing hauntingly towards where Edwardian housing drifted into Cosmopolitan London. If Greg was certain of one thing, it was that this was no coincidence.

Curiosity flooding his senses, he made a dash to get a better look at her, in an effort to absorb every detail of her being. That face...where did he know her from? In an instant, a sudden realisation dripped through him. She was one of the people following him. She was from the Sherrinford Project. Scrambling to get a better look, he shuffled out onto the street, scanning every inch. Once again however, within moments she had materialised into thin air, leaving Greg to his own bewilderment.

-

It wasn't every day that Greg brought a gun on his jog. Today however, warranted a special exception.  The woman had been everywhere; at work, at crime scenes, even in Tescos as he'd bought Milk for Mrs Hudson. As he jogged, he kept his head faced forwards, not wanting to arouse suspicion of the woman who was without a doubt stalking him. 

He'd been running for around half an hour, when the woman slunk into existence. He'd just passed the pond in the park and now made his way through an area cloaked with overhanging trees, where the path narrowed into a thin winding slither, when the crack of a branch breaking crunched through the quiet. He knew Mycroft would hate him for doing this, he knew he was putting himself in danger, yet every inch of him yearned to confront her. Reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants, he spun around rapidly and pointed the gun directly at the figure dressed in red. 

For a moment, the woman bore her eyes intensely into his eyes, her face hardened and fearless. Then she stepped back, lifting her hands in the air, tensing into submission. 

"Who are you? Why are you following me?" Greg growled, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. His attempt was in vain however, as voice slipped out as odd and monotone. He cursed at his stupidity. 

With every second he spent looking at her, a million memories of her existence flooded into view. Brief glances of her in tube stations, on street corners...at crime scenes! God, how could he have not noticed. She was the witness from the first fake drowning! The disgruntled woman Sherlock had interrupted him interviewing! The day he had first met Mycroft...

"This isn't what you think it, Greg." The womans voice was cool and collected, far too used to confrontation for Greg's liking. 

"I won't come with you!" He declared, his voice quivering. "You'll never have me at your damn project!"

"Greg, you've made a mistake!" She gasped, eying the gun with discomfort. "I'm not with the Sherrinford Project." 

Greg exhaled as confusion shrouded his vision. Who the hell was she then? Lowering the gun ever so slightly, he glared at the woman. 

"Explain." 

-

"Who are you?" 

The woman frowned at Greg, features apprehensive, from where she sat opposite him on the bench. She'd been able to convince him to discuss matters somewhere in the open, likely enthusiastic to have the gun out of the picture.

"Mary...My name is Mary." 

"Why have you been following me?" 

Mary's fair skin, although dowsed in late afternoon shadow, seemed alert and intense, emitting a faint glow in the meagre sunlight. Her eyebrow arched upwards strongly but her lips betrayed her, their corners lifting to form a smile of kindly reassurance.

"We want to help you Greg, you're in more danger than you know."

"Danger from what?" This woman didn't make any sense. 

"Mycroft Holmes." 

Greg blinked back at the woman in astonishment, lost for words. Who would ever think that Mycroft was a danger to anyone? From what Greg knew he was an incredibly private individual, only known to those he chose to display his identity to. 

"He created the Sherrinford Project." 

"Wait a minute, can we go back a minute. What does this have anything to do with you?" 

"I'm like you, Greg."

Greg felt as if he stomach had dropped one thousand feet. His eyes glazed over and his lip quivered as he gazed in astonishment at Mary. He'd spent an entire lifetime alone, utterly alien in his experience. Yet here this woman was, spouting an impossible illusion. It simply couldn't be true. 

"I don't believe you." He stammered. He almost didn't want to believe it, he couldn't bare the thought of being hooked by the illusion he was not the only one of his...species.

"Then I'll prove it to you." Before Greg could register what was happening, Mary had risen and was treading over the dewy grass, towards the pond. 

"Mary!" Greg cried, breaking into a slow run after her. Was she mad? If this woman was really telling the truth, the last thing she should do was reveal herself, in public! As they reached the edge of the water, Greg reached to grab her arm and stop her jumping, when she halted abruptly. Sinking to her knees, she reached a hand out over the water, staring darkly into its depths. 

"What are you doing?" He whispered hoarsely. 

"Shhh!" She snapped back. Her blue orbs shone iridescently and she stretched out for fingers, as if willing the water to move. Much to Greg's astonishment, it did. Stumbling back in astonishment, Greg gaped at the pond, as the water rose magically, churning so that if formed a wave, at least four meters in height. Eventually allowing her concentration to lapse, Mary dropped her hand and breathed heavily and mirroring her, so did the wave, crashing down so that only a small lip slapped the edge of the pond.

"What on earth...how on earth did you do that?" Greg stammered, trembling with wonder at what he had just witnessed. 

"You really have no idea do you..." Mary's voice was sympathetic, as she was entertaining a small naive child learning that the world was not flat. How could he not know about this...how could he know so little. It was all painfully overwhelming, so much that he dropped back onto the grass in an effort to register what he had just witnessed. Mary looked down at him sadly and knelt down beside him. 

"Look Greg...I am part of a network of people responsible for protecting our kind. For centuries we've been put under threat by hunters but now we face a far greater threat. People like Mycroft Holmes, they helm immense power and they know our secret. Because of this, members of our community have had differing approaches to how to deal with them. My network choose to protect as many people as we can before those in power can get to them, shady government agencies, you know the sort. "

"But Mycroft isn't a threat!" Greg interrupted "He's trying to help me. He made a mistake to begin with but he's trying to shut down the Sherrinford Project, protect...us...from them."

Mary raised an eyebrow and glanced anxiously at Greg. 

"Greg, what exactly do you think they do at Sherrinford?"

"Experimentation?" Greg offered, ice cold with the sudden realisation that he was wrong. 

"The people that run the Sherrinford Project...they're not scientists, they're like me and you."

"They're mer-"

"Yes." Mary interrupted. "Mycroft may have started the project but it is far from what he envisioned it to be. It was overtaken by individuals within the government who believed that humans had no right to know about merpeople. They're willing to go to great lengths to protect themselves. 

Greg brain was beginning to lurch into gear. Months of misunderstanding was finally beginning to form a horrifying picture. 

"Oh my God." Greg gasped, his heart pounding out of his chest. The fake drownings- they'd been unsolvable, so madly irrational that they'd been perfect, perfect for Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes to solve. "The Sherrinford Project...they staged those killings to attract Mycroft, they wanted to lure him to Sherrinford!" 

Greg hastily explained the three bodies that had turned up on the Thames, all of whom had been recorded as employees of the Sherrinford Project. 

"All this time, I thought they were coming after me but I was wrong. They're coming after Mycroft..." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this Chapter surprise you? 
> 
> To clarify:
> 
> The Sherrinford Project is actually an agency that deals with humans who threaten the lives of supernatural creatures and have sinister intentions for Mycroft.  
> Mary doesn't work for them but tries to help Merpeople like herself who they think are in danger.  
> Also some merpeople have abilities like Mary does, to be able to move water etc and as you can probably guess there is a lot more to this world than Greg is aware of. 
> 
> Next time:   
> Can Greg save Mycroft from the Sherrinford Project?

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback on this would be massively appreciated!


End file.
